


Hate Is Not Enough

by Jeldenil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 12:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9897176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeldenil/pseuds/Jeldenil
Summary: Harry notices that Draco Malfoy follows him around everywhere he goes. It gets under his skin. This story was mostly an excuse to write some smut and angst.





	

It had all started right after the war. Even though he didn't need to be there, Draco Malfoy was always somewhere close. Of course, initially, Harry had looked him up, defending him before the Wizengamot. He'd tried to engage in a politely pleasant conversation with him afterwards, but Draco had just muttered a reluctant word of thanks, and retreated. A year later, when Harry received his Auror credentials, he had spotted the white-blond head in the audience. During many of his missions, he'd see him watching him as he returned to report in the Ministry. Once or twice, he tried to approach him, but Draco'd always walk away swiftly, presumably on some errand or other.

Harry'd been rather surprised to find that Draco had actually accepted the politely sent invitation to his and Ginny's wedding, although the man did not seem to enjoy the festivities in the slightest. In return, he'd felt compelled to attend Malfoy's own, which was way smaller than his has been. Maybe Harry'd been imagining it, but it seemed to him that Malfoy had glared at him an awful lot during the ceremony. And then there were the several Ministry official gatherings that Harry was required to attend. They ranged from congresses to jubileums, and from transfer-ceremonies to press-conferences. Malfoy attended all of them, even though most had nothing to do with him.

There had been the time that Harry had gotten seriously injured during a mission in Brazil, and he'd ended up staying in a magically-induced coma in St Mungo's for several weeks. Later, he'd been sure he'd heard Malfoy's voice, although nobody could confirm he'd been there to visit. But somebody had left him a single branch of white lilac. By the time they sent their children to Hogwarts, Harry was used to encountering him every now and then during the schoolyear. They had even talked a few times, and of course, reluctantly worked together to ensure the safety of their children. 

During his wife's illness, Malfoy had understandably retreated again. Harry had not seen him until her funeral. He'd walked up to his former rival to offer his condolences, and for the first time, Malfoy had accepted a brief, awkward hug. He'd looked absolutely shaken, and Harry truly felt sorry for him. Afterwards, he'd started seeing Malfoy everywhere again, but now the other did no longer try to hide or disguise his presence. He'd even wave and come over for chitchat, mostly about their children, and specifically their sons' friendship. 

But around the year their sons were graduating, Harry was the one to retreat. Ginny and he were having marital problems. Problems that didn't seem to be solvable. He didn't attend any Ministry official events for a while, and when he happened upon Malfoy somewhere, Harry would walk away without acknowledging him. Seeing Malfoy somewhere started to get on his nerves again, like it had done back in Hogwarts. He was especially annoyed to see him in the street outside the magical mediator office where he and Ginny had been discussing the terms of their divorce. This was none of Malfoy's business! 

The next day, as he was walking through the Ministry on his way to a meeting with Hermione -minister Granger-Weasley, he reminded himself- he noticed that Malfoy was actually following him! Following him from his office down a windy corridor. Behind him on the flight of stairs he preffered over the elevator. This was getting ridiculous. Choosing to ignore Malfoy, Harry grumpily stomped over to Hermione's office, bursting in abruptly and slamming the door shut behind him.  
“What's the matter, Harry?” Hermione was out of her chair and hurrying forwards, looking worried. “Is it Ginny? Did you have another fight? ” Harry shook his head.  
“It's Malfoy.”He huffed. “He's up to something. It's like he's stalking me.”  
“Well, has he tried to approach you? Tried to get you to talk to him? Written you stalkerish letters?”  
“Uh... no. He's just everywhere I am and I'm getting fed up with it, really, Hermione. Can't we do something about it?”  
“Well, unfortunately... no. Unless he's trying to attack you. He isn't attacking you, is he, Harry?”  
“No. I... it doesn't make sense. He just follows me everywhere.”  
“That sounds a bit like he thinks -you- are up to something. You followed -him- everywhere back in sixth year, remember?”  
“Yeah, but he really was up to something. I'm not. He should know that. Oh, forget it, can we just talk about this file you wanted me to look at?”

Together, they read through a rather lengthy report about a recent peak in immigration of Eastern European vampires to London. There'd been some incidents that were close to a breach of the International Statue of Secrecy. Harry suggested contacting Victor Krum. Hermione didn't much like the idea of writing an ex-boyfriend. Harry teased her about it, but offered to write the letter in her stead. He'd pushed his thoughts and misgivings about Draco Malfoy out of his mind. But when he made to leave Hermione's offer, she stopped him in his tracks.  
“Have you considered the possibility that Malfoy may be attracted to you?”

It was entirely ridiculous, of course. Malfoy, being attracted to him. Harry was pretty sure that Hermione'd been wrong about this one. Much to Harry's dismay, however, he kept seeing Draco around almost daily. He'd keep his distance, and he didn't try to approach Harry, but Harry felt his gaze on him in the most unexpected moments. When he was visiting Gringgots, arranging the financial part of his divorce, Malfoy was there, talking to a goblin in hushed tones, but Harry knew he was looking.  
Another time he'd return home after a long day, and see Malfoy hurrying out of the street, but not without glancing at Harry over his shoulder.

One evening he was having a drink with Dean and Seamus in a Muggle bar, and noticed Malfoy casually leaning against the railing of the upper floor. The couple noticed him too, and started asking Harry questions that made him feel awkward, especially when they followed up with some sound advice – all in jest, of course, but their words were hard to shake.  
All the sightings, and his friends' words were working Harry up into a state of severe aggravation. The fact that he started seeing Malfoy in his dreams didn't help. Some of the dreams were unpleasant memories. Malfoy shouting at him with eyes filled with hatred. Malfoy lifting a foot to stomp on his nose. Malfoy, curled up and screaming in pain, his body bleeding from violent slashes. But, much to Harry's irk, some of the dreams were really rather... nice, leaving him in a state that required taking cold showers to calm down from. It was infuriating, really. 

Finally, one late afternoon in april, while Harry was shopping for a birthday gift for Lily in Diagon Alley, he noticed Malfoy was following him from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to Broomstix and Harry just had enough. He turned around, stomped over to Malfoy and grabbed the blonde by an arm before he could make a retreat like usual and dragged him towards the doorway of a currently unused shop so they'd at least have some privacy. It was impossible to deny the blatant way in which Malfoy was letting his eyes travel all over Harry's body, starting at his eyes, then travelling down to stare at his Muggle outfit -a longsleeved 'I ♥ London' shirt and a pair of black, faded jeans- to travel back up to meet his eyes. Malfoy was even licking his lips in a gesture that could either be completely liberate or totally involuntary.  
“Merlin's beard, Malfoy! You want me, don't you?” Harry hissed, feeling extremely self-conscious and exposed.

“So you finally figured it out, Potter? You noticed me at last, have you?” Draco couldn't help but sneer as he looked into Harry's accusing eyes. It was an instinctive way of protecting himself, of building a wall around his deepest, most personal emotions. Harry knew that, rationally. But it still annoyed him to no end.  
“Oh shut up, Malfoy, I've noticed you ages ago.”  
The former rivals were staring at each other as if they would start another of their bone-breaking fights any second. Only there wasn't really anything left to fight about.  
Harry found that Draco's intense stare was at the same time the most beautiful thing and the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen.  
“You little, sneaky bitch” Harry whispered as he pushed his rival back against the sidewall of the empty schoolbookshop. “Always up to something, always there when I just try-”  
His words were cut off as Draco grabbed him by the collar and forced their lips together in a desperate, violent kiss. He snaked his arms around Harry's neck and his fingers yanked painfully in Harry's hair. In spite of himself, Harry moaned. When the initial shock had subsided, it was actually a rather good kiss. Hard, passionate, sexy. Malfoy's tongue pushed against his own while one of his hands travelled down towards Harry's ass, squeezing him and pressing their hips flush together.  
Abrubtly, he grabbed at Malfoy's arms, pulling them away as he stepped back, breathless and embarrassed.  
“What the fuck, Malfoy?”  
“You liked that, Potter?” Malfoy taunted, looking pointedly at the crotch of Harry's Muggle jeans. The tight fabric was quite obviously bulging. Harry had the decency to blush.  
“Sod off, Malfoy.”  
“Not likely.”  
“Fine, I'll be on my way then, if it's all the same to you.”  
“No, it's not. Stay right here, Potter, or-”  
“Or what? You'll complain about me to Hermione?” Harry glared at Malfoy maliciously. “The Malfoy way? You gonna tell her that you forced a kiss on me? That the nasty Potter brat is not cooperating?”  
“Shut up, Potter.”  
“Oh for crying out loud, Malfoy, what do you want?!”  
“Dammit, Potter. I want-” Once again, Malfoy didn't finish his sentence. All the fight seemed to have poured out of him. He shook his head and shrugged.  
“Forget about it. It was a mistake. You can go.”  
Harry peered at him suspiciously. That kiss had not felt like a mistake. And really, Malfoy looked miserable. His hunched shoulders, the way he avoided to look Harry in the eyes, how he held his arms stiffly pressed against himself. He was shutting himself off once more.  
“Right...” Harry huffed. It seemed like he'd have to be the bigger man again.  
“You know what, I'll send you a time and place for this talk. We're obviously not doing this here.” 

 

“You call this talking, Potter?”  
Somehow, Harry was glad to hear Malfoy's familiar hostile tone had returned.  
“Are you going to complain all night? I was under the impression that you wanted this.”  
“Just get on with it, Potter.”  
Malfoy kicked off his shoes and socks. Harry had taken his belt off, and judging by the way that Malfoy's eyes followed his every move, and his lips had parted to let out heavy breaths, this was indeed very much something Malfoy wanted. Harry smirked. He was pretty damn pleased with himself for thinking of this. A Muggle hotelroom. It provided them with all the privacy they could ask for, as neither of them were of any significance in the Muggle world. There was very little chance they'd be disturbed or recognized.  
“Your hands,” he told Malfoy, and the other man complied immediately. Harry bit his lower lip. To see Draco Malfoy obey an order from him, and do it so enthusiastically, was actually quite hot. He didn't dwell on that thought, but wrapped his belt around Malfoy's wrists, janking it tight. This was something new entirely; he'd never been so bold with Ginny.  
“Good.” He praised Malfoy, who shuddered at the compliment. “Now bend over the bed.”  
Once he'd positioned Malfoy exactly how he wanted him -suspended diagonally over the bed, his arms tied to the frame, Harry paused. Draco was still wearing his robes. That should be remedied. He pointed his wand at them.  
“Diffindo!” The fabric ripped neatly in half. Perfect.  
“I hope you plan to replace those, Potter,” Malfoy muttered from the bed, but Harry could tell there was no real annoyance behind it.  
“Just to be clear, you do want me to fuck you, Malfoy?” Harry asked, choosing to ignore the berating.  
“I – yes.” Malfoy muttered. Harry grinned, taking in the sight of Malfoy's pale skin in start contrast against the dark sheets of the bed. God, but he was gorgeous. In the dimly lit hotel room, he couldn't quite make out the scars he'd inflicted on the other man, some twenty-odd years ago. That was probably a good thing. But Malfoy was fit. Well-muscled, not too much, but just enough. His pale skin was covered in goosebumps and Harry had not even touched him yet. He'd had grown out his hair,and wore it in a ponytail just waiting to be yanked. Harry's breath quickened. He knelt next to Malfoy's head, and reached out, letting his fingertips travel from Malfoy's tied hands along his arms, to his neck. Draco hummed softly. Threading his fingers through Malfoy's ponytail, Harry pulled it until he could lean in and lick his ear.  
“Fuck, Potter...”  
“Yes. Patience.” He tugged on Malfoy's earlobe with his teeth, sliding his free hand down his spine to give a quick slap on both of his exposed buttocks. Malfoy let out a satisfying little gasp. Harry groped the reddened flesh, massaging and rubbing while he licked and sucked Malfoy's jawline. The groans and pants escaping from Draco's lips were making Harry's heart speed up. He was once again rock-hard in his jeans.  
“How long have you wanted me for?” He asked hoarsely. It'd been a while since Harry'd needed some kind of confirmation of his ego, but Draco was well... different to him.  
“Dammit, Potter, do you have to know?”  
As a response, Harry bit his neck, just behind his ear.  
“Tell me.”  
“I -fuck- I probably wanted you from the moment you attacked me in the bathroom.”  
“That's... pretty fucked up, Malfoy.”  
“Yes. Now go on.”  
Harry bit his lip. He kind of wanted to analyse the fucked-upness of all this, but he also really wanted to fuck Malfoy. His dick nagged inside his trousers. Draco moved on the bed, squirming under Harry's hands.  
“Please, Potter.”  
That did it. Impatiently, Harry kicked off his shoes and pushed his pants down, to crawl on the bed with Malfoy and press his erection against the blonde's side. Draco groaned.  
“I hope Thomas and Finnigan told you how to prep a man.”  
Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy was so impatient. But then again, so was he. This was really not the time to take it slow. He took his wand out of his breast pocket and accio'd a bottle of lube from the night stand. A little shaky, he poured a copious amount of the liquid onto his palm, then rubbed his hands together to warm it up before he started to work it between Malfoy's buttocks. The latter groaned, spreading his thighs so Harry got a good view of his crack, and the bulging balls beneath his opening. Harry started to press one lube-coated finger into Malfoy's tight arse, pushing past the strong muscle at the entrance.  
“Yes...” Malfoy hissed, his hips bucking eagerly. Harry swallowed, his heart racing as he felt just how hot and tight Malfoy was. He worked his finger in farther, soon followed by a second finger as he moved and wiggled to stretch Malfoy's hole. The sounds Malfoy was making were obscene enough to make a pornstar blush. His moans and pants made Harry even more impatient, but somehow he was able to keep working steadily, stretching the blonde out.  
“I think I'm prepped now, Potter,” Malfoy brought out after a couple of minutes, and just as well, as Harry was close to losing it.  
“You sure?” Harry croaked as he slowly pulled his fingers back, unable to resist teasing Malfoy some more.  
“Bloody hell, Potter, just fuck me!”  
Harry laughed breathlessly, but was quick to push Draco's legs farther apart, settling between them. Carefully spreading Malfoy's buttocks with his hands, he started to push in, encouraged by Draco's moans and muttered cursing. As soon as he was hilted, Harry took a few deep breaths, and reached for Malfoy's ponytail. This was incredible. Draco fit around his cock like a snug glove.  
“You're tight,” he grunted, and yanked at Malfoy's hair, rewarded with a melodical moan.  
Harry's first few thrusts were erratic, hurried and clumsy, but soon he found a steady rhythm, slamming into the blonde roughly as he ceased to think.  
“Yes!” Malfoy cried out, moving his hips against each thrust, thighs slapping against thighs.  
Harry panted, speeding up, losing himself in rough, hard fucking. He watched as Draco's back got covered in sweat, and red streaks cutted through the white of the skin of his ass where Harry slapped him as still, the blonde pleaded for more, harder, deeper, faster.  
“H-hit me again!”  
Harry didn't stop to wonder why Malfoy wanted it like this, so rough and almost like they were fighting again. This was what Harry wanted, too. He slapped him hard across his lower back, his aim off as he yanked his ponytail extra violently.  
The strangest, hottest, mewling noise came from Malfoy's lips and his butt clenched around Harry in a series of convulsions that could only mean the blonde was orgasming.  
“P-Potter... yes... Potter...”  
A few hard thrusts later and Harry followed suit, stars blurring his vision as he shot his load deep inside Draco's tight tunnel. 

He collapsed on top of Malfoy's back, not caring about how his shirt wrinkled or his wand was in the way as he wrapped Draco up in his arms. The blonde was shivering. Harry pulled out of him carefully, reached for the belt around Draco's wrists, and untied it. Immediately, Draco curled up in a ball, his arms around his body and his back still turned towards Harry.  
“Maybe we should talk about this now?” Harry suggested after a few minutes.  
“I don't want to, Potter,” Draco mumbled.  
Harry could tell he was upset. He didn't like that.  
“Uh... I'm sorry,” he tried. The most horrible feeling, that he had misread Draco's signals, that he had accidentally raped him, almost choked him.  
“Draco, please say so if I...if I did something you didn't want me to.”  
“Don't be an idiot, Potter. You did everything I wanted you to do. I just don't want to talk about it.”  
Draco was moving away from the bed, grumpily taking his wand from the remnants of his robes to repair them. His normally perfectly tamed hair had come loose from its tie from all the yanking Harry had done. Harry thought Malfoy was gorgeous in all of his irritated, mussed up glory.  
“Are you leaving?”  
“Don't think for a second that you can stop me, Potter. I'll shower at home.”  
“Draco...”  
“And you better buy me new robes.”  
“Only if you meet me here again next week.”  
It was the only thing Harry could think of to say.  
“You're positively insane, Potter.”

 

It worked for a while. They'd meet up, have mind blowing sex, and Draco would leave again, leaving Harry behind in confusion. Malfoy never wanted to talk about it, but the sex did become a little less rough and desperate, and a little more slow and deliberate. Harry only had to replace the one set of robes, because now when he'd arrive, Malfoy'd be naked and ready waiting for him in the bed. His kisses were still as desperate as their first one, as if Malfoy was trying to tell him something with those. But Harry was getting increasingly frustrated with the way his enemy-turned-lover was refusing to talk about what was happening to them. So, instead of waiting until their set date in the hotel, Harry took a day off of work and appareted to Malfoy manor a week before Hallow's eve. He didn't exactly like going back there. In the pouring rain, the enormous, ridiculously posh building looked as grim as ever. It brought back a series of unpleasant memories Harry didn't particularly care for. He wondered how that must be for Draco. Why had he kept the place? He could have easily sold it to some pureblood idiot. Maybe Malfoy did still have some kind of sentimental hope that one day, another Dark Lord would want to use it as his headquarters again. The thought made Harry angry.  
As he approached the gate and pulled the bell-chord, he half expected a bunch of Death Eaters to bar the way, but of course, nothing like that happened. Instead, a house-elf in a spotless loincloth appeared with a loud 'pop' that startled Harry from his thoughts.  
“Master Malfoy wants to know why you have come here, Harry Potter.”  
“Tell your master that I want to talk to him. He can at least have the courtesy to receive me. It's cold, wet and windy.”  
“Yes sir!”  
The house-elf disappeared with another loud 'pop' and Harry squinted to see through the curtain of rain. He wiggled back and forth on his toes. He wasn't really that cold or wet, as he had cast some protective spells, but it'd be nice to get inside nonetheless. After a minute or so the gate opened with an eerie screeching sound that could have been featured on the soundtrack of a horror-film. Harry hurried up the driveway -why did Malfoy have a driveway?- to the stately house. The same house-elf that had greeted him by the gate, led him in through a smaller door in one of the two giant ones.  
“Master Malfoy waits for you in his study, Harry Potter!”  
Harry curiously eyed the entrance hall. Malfoy had changed it. It was not longer the cold, clinically white marble, but instead a deep green carpet lined the floor, and the walls were decorated with family portraits. He spotted Draco and Astoria, Scorpius with an arm around Harry's very own youngest son Albus. Astoria's sister Daphne. Their parents. Andromeda. And of course, Draco's parents. They were all looking at him. Some with a friendly smile (the boys, Andromeda and Astoria), some just nodding politely (the rest of them). The very fact that Lucius wasn't glaring daggers at him, made Harry feel almost welcome. The fact that a portrait of Bellatrix was nowhere in sight, made it even better.  
Harry made for the staircase. Even though it was still made out of the original marble, Harry could tell that Draco had done his best to change it, too. It was painted in the same deep green as the carpet in the entrance hall, and the banisters were painted silver. A nod to Slytherin, most likely. Whatever the exact thought behind it, however, it was an improvement.  
Upstairs on the landing, Harry didn't have to guess which door lead to Draco's study. The blonde man was standing in the doorway, leaning against one of the doorposts, arms crossed over his chest. He looked regal in a fine set of velvet robes, his hair as meticulous as ever. Harry swallowed.  
“I uh... like what you've done to the place,” he said, walking towards Draco. The other nodded, stepping aside to let Harry in. The study itself was cosy, with a fire burning in the hearth, the walls lined with hundreds of books. There were two fauteuils in front of the fireplace, and a large wooden desk stood against the only wall that was reserved for more portraits instead of books. Those portraits were all of Hogwarts teachers, it seemed. Harry recognised Snape and Slughorn. But also the current head of Slytherin, Adelaide Murton. To his surprise, there was even a tiny portrait of Neville.  
“Scorpio likes him, and he's a War hero, of course,” Draco explained, catching Harry staring.  
“I'm surprised you don't have a portrait of Salazar or Merlin here.”  
“Salazar and Merlin were my father's favorites, not mine. They have a place in the formal dining room. I never use it anymore.”  
Harry frowned.  
“Your father... He made the right choice in the end.”  
“You don't have to say that, not for me. I know you are all noble and forgiving and everything, but I'm not.”  
“Draco...” Harry tilted his head as he looked into Draco's impossibly grey eyes. He could see the other man was agitated. Maybe even upset.  
“Why do you insist on this talking, thing, Potter?”  
“Because I think you need it. Because I think I deserve it.”  
It was quiet for a while. Draco sat down in one of the fauteuils. Harry sauntered over to the other one sitting down as Draco gestured him to. Draco snapped his fingers, and a steaming mug of hot chocolate appeared on a small table near Harry's seat.  
“Thanks.”  
“I will never understand why you'd choose to go out of your way to talk to me during a bloody storm.”  
“Because I knew you'd most likely be inside.”  
“Is everything that simple for you, Potter?”  
Harry almost laughed. But Draco's furious stare made him decide against that. He carefully sipped from the hot chocolate. It was really good, sweet and strong and scalding.  
“You should have one too.”  
“I asked you a question.”  
Harry sighed. He thought he was the one supposed to ask questions, but maybe it would have to be the other way around.  
“No Draco. Not everything is simple to me. My childhood wasn't. You know that. My life as a grown-up is not simple either. My kids aren't simple. Ginny isn't simple. She... she... I guess she and Dennis understand each other better than I ever did. But I moved on. And you. You're not simple in the slightest.”  
Draco nodded, and looked at the fire.  
“I'm sorry. You deserve better.”  
“What are you even talking about?”  
Draco stood up and rolled up his left sleeve to reveal the scar of his Dark Mark. Despite the fact that Harry had seen it before often enough, had touched it and studied it, it still wasn't something he liked to look at.  
“You had no choice,” Harry said weakly. “Voldemort had your parents, your life in his hands. You had to.”  
“No, Harry, I wanted to.” Draco spat.  
“You were sixteen.” Harry protested. “You were young and stupid. Merlin, Draco, I was young and stupid too! I blindly hated you for who your parents taught you to be!”  
“You didn't try to kill me, though! You didn't join a cult dedicated to kill me!”  
“No, Draco! But you didn't really want to kill me either! You saved my life, remember?”  
“That doesn't count! You saved my life, too! And I could only hate you for that, for years. I wished you'd have let me die that day, Potter! At least... I used to wish that.”  
“But Draco, why?”  
“Because... because I loved you. And I hated you for it.”  
“That doesn't make any sense.”  
“Well, maybe you should think about it some more!” Draco scoffed, and sat back in his chair. At another snap of his fingers, a second mug of hot chocolate appeared on his table. They drank their steaming drinks in silence, as Harry mulled over what Draco had just revealed.  
“Was it the pureblood thing?” He finally asked. “Do purebloods hate same-sex love like the conservatives do?”  
“They do. But it wasn't just that.”  
“Voldemort thought love was a weakness.”  
“Yes. And I believed it for a while.”  
“But you loved your parents. And they loved you.”  
“I thought that was the only kind of love I really... deserved. The kind you get for free. The kind that corrupts you. You said so yourself. You hated me for the person my parents taught me to be.”  
“I... Draco, I didn't mean it like that. I meant the way you looked down on others. The bullying. The urm... spoiled brat thing.”  
“You're not making this better, Potter. That is exactly what their corrupted love made me be.”  
“I didn't hate you because you loved them, or because they loved you!”  
“No, but you hated me because you were better than me! And I only thought I was better than you! The real superior one, the real perfect one, that was you! The Chosen One!”  
“I'm not perfect, Draco! I'm not superior and I never -wanted- to be the Chosen One!”  
Harry groaned. Draco was fuming. He was reminded of their confrontations in school.  
“I hated you, Harry, because I loved you and I knew you could never love me back.”  
Draco slammed his mug on the table.  
“I hope you're happy with your answers.”  
Harry's mouth was dry. He couldn't bring himself to talk, even if he desperately wanted to. He ached inside, he ached because now he finally knew how much Draco still hated himself. As if he could read Harry's mind, Draco spoke up again, softly.  
“I never deserved Astoria, and I certainly never deserved you.”  
“That... that's not true,” Harry finally croaked. “I... I don't know much about your late wife, I'm sorry. But... what I know from her, she loved you. You must have done enough for her to make her love you. And you both had Scorpius, and he's... he's pretty great. I'm pretty sure he and Albus... well. They might get married some day.”  
Draco shook his head and buried his face in his hands.  
“You raised a wonderful son, Draco. Come on, look at me. You're a great man. I think you're way better than your father. And even your father wasn't hopeless.”  
Harry carefully took Draco's hands in his own, coaxing him to look up and look into his eyes again. Draco's eyes were mistier than ever, clouded with unshed tears.  
“Look, Draco. I...” Harry swallowed again, and this time it was not just because Draco was so damn gorgeous.  
“I don't know how I feel about you yet. Not entirely. But I know I don't hate you. Not by a far shot. You're brave in your own way. You are a good man. You... you're funny, you're bright and you're a.. ahem, very good lover. I mean, hot as hell, really. I like you. And if you can just give me a chance...” Harry paused, watching Draco's eyes trained on his own. “Give me a chance to see more of all those good sides, okay? I think we need to talk a lot more... and maybe you could give yourself a chance, too. If you can do that, I don't think it is all that impossible for me to love you back.”  
“I said so before, but now I'm sure. You're completely insane, Potter.” Draco sounded incredulous.  
“I never said I wasn't.”  
“Fair enough...” Draco sighed. “Okay. Saying I give you that chance. Or myself. Whatever. Where do you suggest we start?”  
“Well, for a start, I suggest you show me to your room, we make love and I get to stay the night. Tomorrow we can continue talking.”  
“That sounds almost like you found your sanity back.”  
Harry laughed, for the first time that evening.  
“Yeah. Who knew how much you'd inspire me. Now show me the way.”  
“You're stubborn, too.”  
“Yeah. Get used to it.”  
Rolling his eyes, Draco showed him the way.

**Author's Note:**

> *added notes*  
> I appreciate the kudos, but I would really like some comments as well. Critiques are very welcome!


End file.
